


Scythe

by glassonion_archivist



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-22
Updated: 2002-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-19 10:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15508311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassonion_archivist/pseuds/glassonion_archivist
Summary: Gently down the stream.





	Scythe

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Glass Onion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Glass_Onion), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Glass Onion’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/glassonion/profile).

 

Scythe

## Scythe

### by s.a.
    
    
         Subject: [glass_onion] FIC: Scythe (1/1, Andromeda GEN)
         Date: Monday, August 19, 2002 3:25 AM
         
         Title: Scythe
         Author: s.a. 
         Rating: PG. 
         Pairing: N/A.
         Fandom: Andromeda (INFO: <http://andromedatv.com>)
         Disclaimer: Andromeda and it's related characters belong to
         people who aren't me; last time I checked, I didn't get
         money for this stuff. Kinda wish I did though. 
         Spoilers: General for "Pitiless as the Sun" and "Tunnell at
         the End of the Light."
         Feedback: It's the best kind of crack. email: 
         Distribution: Hole in the Ground, <http://hole.nodist.net>;
         List archives. Just ask.
         Author's Notes: For Ple. My girl. Because she knows that
         "cowboy" isn't spelled "cowbody." Written for the 500-Word
         Improv #1: (pocket; crimson; memory; deity) Props to
         Viridian5 for being incredibly gracious informing me about
         canon.
         Summary: Gently down the stream.
    

* * *

"Row, row, row your boat--" Clang, clang, clang. 

"Gently down the stream--" Bang, skritch, clang. 

"Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily--" Clunk, boing, thunk. 

"Life--" Clang. "--is but--" Clang. "--a DREAM." 

Harper emerged from the wreckage piled on top of his workbench; he had a smudge of oil swiped across his forehead that he didn't seem to have noticed yet, and was cheerfully banging one of his hundreds of tools against the block of metal in a terrible bastardization of "Row, row, row your boat." 

He twirled the laser-operated tool in his hand like an ancient revolver, blew across the top, and stuck it in his belt in a parody of a cowboy. This was followed by a wince as he realized he hadn't turned off the switch when he stuck it down his pocket, so about now there was a freaking hot laser ripping through his pants. He pulled it out quickly and threw it across the room, doing a little dance that would theoretically help end the pain. 

The end-the-pain dance really only served to get an indelicate snort from Rommie-the-computer, who was watching him from a small corner of one panel. He shouted, "Shaddup!" before tossing a rag over the viewscreen. 

Harper jumped up onto the table across from the hunk of junk that littered half the workshop, his legs dangling over the edge. He looked like a hopped up ten year old with a new toy. Hell, he felt like a hopped up ten year old with a new toy. The new toy being the Secret Project. 

It was good to have something to work on. Wait--he loved Rommie. Loved working on Rommie, even loved it when she got damaged just so he could fix her. But for the most part, she ran herself. She knew herself better than he did. Which is why it was nice to have something that was his. He thanked whatever deity out there that he'd been given the go-ahead on this. It was something to distract him from the memory of those damned-- 

Yeah. He wasn't thinking about it. Which was the whole point of the Secret Project. It even had capital letters in his mind. 

There was a beep-beep-beep from the corner, and Harper went to retrieve the laser from where it was ripping crimson-hot holes in the wall. One small press on the proper pad, and the tool buzzed off, leaving Harper to shove another unfinished project a few feet to the left to hide the slightly gaping puncture into the next level. 

He went back to the Special Project, grasping for a couple of other tools as he walked. He knew exactly where everything was. He liked that he knew where everything was. He liked that he had his own space. 

He liked that for a few hours every day he could forget that he was this close to dying. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to s.a.


End file.
